


Walls for the Winds

by sunken_ships (sunken__ships)



Series: Stepping Stones [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, Basically, Family Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, but this story is IN NO WAY angsty, implied aroace jean, just super cute, lots of fluff, what if fantine didn't die, why ship jean and fantine romantically when you can ship them platonically?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 18,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4873489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunken__ships/pseuds/sunken_ships
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Jean Valjean ever wanted was someone with whom to fill the silence.<br/>But when he moves to a new town and into a new apartment block, the last thing he expects is for this silence to be filled by a little girl called Cosette, who worms her way into his heart and into his life, bringing her mother Fantine with her.</p><p>Set up like a series of one-shots, following the new life of Jean Valjean and his new family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The one where Jean moves in

**Author's Note:**

> A weird mix of the 2012 movie, the musical, and the book (which I haven't read, but I've read lots about it, I promise).  
> This story is predominantly from the perspective of Jean Valjean, but also follows the stories of Fantine and little Cosette. The next instalment in the series will follow Cosette into university (whether it will be from her perspective or not, I haven't decided yet). So basically, this is a like a prequel to a college au.  
> Each chapter is kind of like a one-shot, but sometimes they are directly linked to one another, and sometimes they are random snapshots in Jean's life. Sometimes they're super long, sometimes they're super short.  
> The whole story has been written, but I'll post a new chapter every two or three days.  
> Just to let you guys know: I put in the tags that there is implied sexual assault, but let me just say that that is merely a precaution. There is no mention of it, and the characters do not suggest it verbally or anything like that - it really is only a faint implication.  
> Where is this story set? Who knows.  
> Hope you like my fic xx

     The apartment building threw a cool shadow across the pavement, shielding Jean Valjean from the sweltering heat of the midsummer sun as he stood, hands on hips, gazing up at what would become his new home. The time for panicking had passed, and now he was only eager to settle in and begin living his new life.

     Sighing, he turned back to his car. He'd borrowed the trailer from his sister, and in it were pieces of his furniture that he had chosen to keep: his bed and its mattress, an armchair, a dining chair and table. The rest, he had sold. Of course, he had brought along his television — as old and faulty as it was — as well as a desk lamp and a few other bits and bobs. His clothes were packed in suitcases in the boot of his car.

     He turned back to the apartment. That door looked awfully small, and his furniture looked awfully wide. He hadn't thought to hire any help, as he knew that he could lift it. He just hadn't even considered that trying to carry it all to his new room would just be too awkward on his own.

     Well, no use if he couldn't even get in yet. He headed inside into the lobby, where he hoped the landlord would be, as they had arranged over the phone the day before, and was unfortunately not welcomed with a wash of air conditioning, but the squeak of old fans that spun uselessly on the off-white ceiling. The walls were a matching colour, and the typical painting of a wild ocean hanging did little to liven up the bland room. The landlord stood by a dark brown desk, his hands clasped behind his back.

     Javert was a man of average height and stiff limbs, with a voice that Jean believed was a natural repellent for anyone who enjoyed having a laugh. Before their first meeting a number of weeks ago, Jean had been expecting a heavy, sharp-edged bottom jaw and heavy eyebrows over dark, deep-set eyes, but Javert's face, as unsmiling as it was, was round, with bright blue eyes that sloped downwards on the outside corner, giving it an almost soft look that jarred unerringly with the man's harsh attitude.

     "Mr Valjean," Javert barked in a clipped greeting, holding out a firm hand for Jean to shake. "We meet once again."

     "Mr Javert," Jean replied, taking the offered hand. Even though Javert's face did not seem to match his personality, his handshake certainly did.

     "I expect you arrived with little trouble."

     Jean shook his head. "No, not really. Despite the heat, it's a nice day outside."

     "I prefer the winter," Javert said. Jean could understand why. It was a bit difficult to appear hard-nosed and proper when sweat was beading on your brow and dampening your underarms on your dress shirt.

     "Ah, yes," Jean said, unsure how to respond to such a statement. "Anyway, I was hoping to collect the keys to my new room."

     "Of course," Javert said, reaching into his pocket. He procured two identical silver keys, and one electronic key. "These are the only two keys for your room, and the only key for the car park. Do not lose them."

     "I don't plan to," Jean said with a slightly nervous smile, taking the keys and tucking them safely in his own pocket.

     "I have already explained the arrangements and rules of this building," Javert said. "I hope that the only reason I would need to remind you of them is if you asked me to."

     "Don't you worry, Mr Javert," Jean said, "you won't find any trouble with me."

     Javert humphed. "I should hope not, Mr Valjean. You seem far too respectable a man to cause mischief. Unlike the rowdy delinquents in room 159. I would be careful of them if I were you."

     "Duly noted," Jean said with a nod.

     "Unfortunately, that is a repercussion when your neighbouring town revolves around its university," Javert added somewhat bitterly. "The entire apartment block is infested with younger people, who do nothing but cause trouble." He shook his head disdainfully. "Nevertheless, they pay the fee that is due. These rooms are more expensive than colleges and dormitories, anyhow."

     Jean nodded again. He was well aware that he, and other similarly-aged people, were severely outnumbered by the large population of university students; the campus of Abaissés University — nicknamed simply 'ABCU' — was half an hour away, in a larger, nicer town. A bus took students straight from their apartments in Jean's new town to ABCU — and it was strictly for students only. But because of the high concentration of young people, rent was fairly cheap.

     Jean ran a hand through his hair. "Um, this is probably an odd request—" and not one he felt at all comfortable asking, but he didn't have any other options, really, "—but I don't suppose you could help me? I have furniture to move to my room, and—"

     "Not an issue," Javert said simply, and Jean was pleasantly surprised. "I can arrange to have that collected for you."

     Jean's surprise vanished. Oh. Of course; why would he assume that Javert himself would roll up his sleeves and offer to help? "Right, of course. That's what I was asking."

     "At your own expense, understandably."

     "Yes," Jean said, only just managing to cover up the glumness in his voice. "Do you know when they'll arrive?"

     "Tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, if I call now."

     Jean's heart fell. "Oh. Really? My bed..."

     "It is no fault of mine that you did not think this through earlier and plan ahead, Mr Valjean. I am doing you a favour by offering my help."

     Jean nodded. "Yes, of course. Thank you." His shoulders sagged ever so slightly. He supposed he could lug his mattress up a few flights of stairs to make do for the night.

     "I hope you settle in comfortably in your new room," Javert said, and Jean supposed he was being dismissed, so, with a mumbled farewell, he wandered back outside.

     He started with the simpler things, piling into his arms as many garbage bags and suitcases of belongings as he could manage, and waddling up two flights of stairs to room 246. He noted, as he went down the hall, that none of the room numbers made any sense. He passed by room 198, then beside it was room 570, and beside that was room 413. It took him by surprise – Javert seemed like the kind of man who would make sure that all the rooms were in perfect order.

     He unloaded when he found his room, and fished out one of his keys.

     This, naturally, wasn't the first time he'd seen the room, but it was as if he had dropped water into his eyes and washed them clean. The room felt more empty than it had before, but it also buzzed with an energy of potential. Jean could see the artworks he would stick on the alabaster walls. A dark red rug would nicely compliment the faded brown wooden floor, and with a few more photo frames, sofas, a coffee table and maybe some candles, this place could feel quite homely. And some pleasant company would just be icing on the cake. Now, if he only had some pleasant company to invite over.

     The bedroom was small, but adequate enough. There wasn't enough room for a desk, not if he took the size of his bed into consideration, but that wasn't a huge issue. There was, however, enough room for a dresser, if he squeezed it in, and if he worked smartly, maybe room for a bookcase, too; he could utilise the space on the wall.

     But all of that would come in time. Now, he dumped his clothing bags in the corner of the room, and the rest in the living room, then ventured down to collect more of his belongings.

     He actually found that he could squeeze his armchair through doorways, and his dining chair was easy. So now he had a chair to sit on while eating, but no table.

     By the time he was due to conquer his mattress dilemma, he was ready to have a cold shower and lie on the floor for a good few hours. And he hadn't even begun to unpack yet.

     He found that the best method was just to slide the mattress up the stairs. The corners were a struggle and a half, but it was the best option he could think of.

     Finally, sweating like a pig and ready to throw in the towel, Jean reached the second floor, counting his blessings that he wasn't on the fifth floor. Sweeping a forearm across his forehead, he took the mattress from where he had leant it against the wall and began pushing it towards his room.

     Manoeuvring the thing through the apartment was a frustrating experience, and it was a huge relief to let it fall flat on the bedroom floor. Jean nudged it with his foot so it was roughly where he pictured his bed would be, and then, groaning in effort, lowered him and his aching muscles onto its springy surface.

     As he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, a few things crossed his mind. For one, he was absolutely starving. Lunchtime had come and gone. Second, he had to not only unpack, but go outside to buy food, at least for lunch now and dinner later. Maybe he could order takeaway. Thirdly, he had very limited knowledge of where anything in this town was. And he didn't really have anyone to ask, either.

     He heaved a sigh. Friends and a geography of his new hometown would come with time; even if it was just the latter, he would survive.

     Lunch first, he decided. He would get nothing productive done on an empty stomach.

     Just before he left, he dug through his bags to pull out his deodorant and a new shirt. It would not make a good impression on his new neighbours if they ran into him while he was coated in a layer of sweat.

     Running a hand through his hair to push it from his forehead, Jean headed downstairs, almost colliding with a couple as their children as he reached the foyer. "Excuse me," he said in apology. The woman just gave him an unimpressed look that bordered on a glare, jerking her head to the side in an attempt to toss a long, ragged lock of hair from the centre of her face. The man gave him a similar treatment, the corners of his lips downturned.

     Jean couldn't help but cast a confused glance over his shoulder as he passed them, baffled by the level of which these people seemed to dislike him already. Three little girls, with backpacks firmly on their backs, pattered after the man and woman like little ducklings. "Come on, Éponine and Azelma, my darlings," the woman's grating voice echoed from the stairs. "Cosette, stop trailing behind."

     Jean shook his head, and grimaced slightly at the sweltering heat that instantly seeped into his bones when he stepped outside.

     He discovered that town was a fifteen-minute walk away, but with the sun glinting off the concrete into his eyes and burning the back of his neck, it felt longer. The town wasn't exactly a hive of activity, but there were folks about. The small supermarket was blissfully cool, and Jean contentedly shuffled from aisle to aisle. Milk, bread, two frozen pizzas, peanut butter, a few packets of Cup-a-Soup. That would be plenty to last him till tomorrow.

     He quickly sought out the bottle shop, a bought a six-pack of beer. Then, happy with his purchases and concerned that his pizza would be fully cooked by the time he reached his apartment, he hurried back.

     Peanut butter toast and a bottle of beer wasn't the most unusual lunch combination he'd ever had, but it was certainly one of the loneliest. Jean was used to not having much company, but it never stopped him from wishing that that wasn't true.

     By the time he went to bed late that night, his belongings were mostly in their new places. He could hear the faint sound of a party, with a thudding bass and chatter and laughter. Welcome to your new life, Jean, he thought, drifting off into a somewhat uncomfortable sleep.


	2. The one where Jean and Fantine meet

     Within three weeks, Jean had found a job, as an attendant at the local butcher. It wasn't exactly glamorous, but it paid the bills. There was a larger town about half an hour away with, he assumed, bigger job opportunities; he'd already started making vague plans to check it out.

     He kept a notebook on his kitchen counter, as well, keeping track of all the things he needed to save up for, including a dresser, a coffee table and a bedside table. It was somewhat of a hassle keeping all of his clothes in suitcases.

     It was in the fourth week that he finally ran into one of his neighbours who was above the age of twenty-five. Apart from the scowling man and woman with their three ducklings, and Javert, Jean had seen no one around the same age as him. The university students were friendly enough, saying hello when they passed and welcoming him to the new building, and a few even offered their help if he ever needed it. That being said, Jean was tiring of having to go to sleep listening to the hottest pop songs of the month.

     He'd stepped out of his apartment with a bagful of dirty laundry one evening when he saw the woman, whose room was across from his, in front of her door. The little blonde girl — Cosette, he'd come to learn — was by her side, waiting patiently as the woman fumbled with her keys.

     Jean was a little confused as to why Cosette wasn't with the other couple, but she seemed quite comfortable with this thin, pale-skinned woman; the woman who was now trying to put the key into the keyhole.

     The keys dropped to the ground and the woman sighed heavily, rubbing the palm of her hand over her eye.

     Jean closed his door, and she jumped, glancing over her shoulder. Her face was ghostly, with purple circles underneath her sunken eyes. She gave him the imaginings of a smile, looking far too exhausted to do much more, and went to pick up her keys.

     "Let me," Jean said hurriedly, and knelt to pick up the keys.

     The woman laughed once, sounding a little embarrassed. "Oh, thank you," she said, taking the offered keys from him. She didn't lift her gaze to his eyes, and turned back to the door.

     "Jean Valjean," Jean added. He extended his hand, and the woman flinched slightly, then paused, and shook his hand. Her fingers were cold, and Jean's dark olive complexion contrasted alarmingly with her skin.

     "Fantine Fauchelevent," the woman replied. As if as an afterthought, she put a hand around Cosette's shoulders. "And this is my daughter, Euphrasie. But everyone calls her Cosette."

     "Your daughter?" Jean repeated.

     Fantine's eyes flicked up to his, a brown that could be so warm and inviting if not glazed over. "Yes. You sound surprised."

     Jean shrugged, shaking his head. "It's just that I've seen her with another couple and another little girl."

     Fantine smiled slightly, but it was not a pleasant smile. "Those are the Thérnardiers, in number 499. They pick Cosette up after school and take care of her when I have night shifts. Éponine is Cosette's age."

     "That's kind of them."

     "They don't do it for free."

     "Oh." Jean hesitated. "Uh, I just moved in. A few weeks ago. I haven't seen you around."

     "I work a lot," Fantine said. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but it's getting late..."

     "Oh, yes, of course," Jean said quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hold you up."

     "No, you..." Fantine glanced up at him again, looking almost amused, as if she had thought of an inside joke. "Goodbye, Mr. Valjean."

     "Jean," Jean said. "Please."

     Fantine nodded. "Jean."

     "I'll see you later, maybe. Some time. We are neighbours, after all."

     "Yes."

     Jean bid goodbye to Cosette, and hurried down to the laundry room, mentally hitting himself for being so stupid. So much for making new friends.

     By the time he had claimed the stairs to his room again, his washed clothes warm but wet in the garbage bag, Fantine was locking her door, dressed in a large overcoat. When she spied Jean in the corner of her eye, she started.

     "Heading out again?" Jean asked amicably, although he would be lying if he hadn't thought it was a bit odd. Was she leaving Cosette alone in their apartment?

     "Ah, yes," Fantine said, her head ducked. "Night shift."

     That would perhaps explain why the poor woman looked so exhausted. Did she do this every night? "Is someone looking after Cosette?"

     "Yes," Fantine said quickly. "Yes, yes, she's not alone."

     "Oh, well, that's good." Jean unlocked his own door. "Well, take care of yourself, Fantine."

     "You too, Jean," Fantine said, and hurried away, drawing her coat tightly around herself.

     It was only when Jean was in the business of hanging his wet clothes up in the bathroom to try that he realised Fantine could have mistaken his interest in Cosette's wellbeing as predatory. After all, a strange man whom she had met only once before, who claimed to have noticed Cosette a number of times already (perhaps he had been taking note of her presence), and who was asking if she was alone at night in her apartment.

     Jean grimaced, his dripping shirt suddenly a great weight in his hands. Oh dear. That was the opposite impression he'd been attempting to make.

     But, if that was the case, had Fantine just been lying to keep him away? Was Cosette, who couldn't have been older than six, sleeping alone in her apartment?

     Jean shook his head. It wasn't his business. If Fantine said that Cosette wasn't alone, then he had to take her word for it. Perhaps her babysitters, the Thérnardiers were keeping an eye on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because these are kind of like one-shots, I can wriggle in some here and there if there's anything - a trope, or idea, whatever - anyone wants to see in particular. Comment below if you think of something! Thanks for reading :) xx


	3. The one where Jean is still alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of two chapters I'll upload today, seeing as this one is so short. Hope you like it! xx

     He was well-liked at his job. The manager praised him for his kind attitude towards the customers. He was yet to visit the larger town, content for now with the job he had. Although he wasn't a fan of smelling almost constantly like raw meat until he went home to shower, it wasn't a bad job, and it paid fairly well. Maybe he should pick up a second job, if he could. His apartment was fine, as bare as it was, but he was very much looking forward to some embellishments.

     Over time he came to recognise faces and names of other people in the town, and they came to recognise him. They would greet him with a smile and a, "Hello Jean," or, "Jean, how are you?" But apart from the small-talk and idle chats, Jean really had no one. He was fine with that, he supposed. Or so he told himself.


	4. The one where Jean helps Cosette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* I'm sorry I have basically no experience with children, I have no idea how to write a six-year-old but hopefully Cosette doesn't sound too old please tell me if she does and I will do my best to fix it I'm sorry

     The business was particularly sleepy one Tuesday afternoon when the bell rang, signalling the entrance of a potential customer. Jean hurriedly put down his newspaper and straightened his apron, walking to the front of the shop. "Good afternoon," he began cheerily, before stopping in his tracks. There was no one there.

     "Hello," came a very small voice. Jean peered over the display. There stood Cosette, a fistful of dollar notes in her hand and shopping bags in the crook of her elbow. "Can I please have twenty chicken kebabs and—"

     "Slow down there," Jean said, baffled. "Where's your mum?"

     Cosette fell silent, staring at him with bright blue doe-eyes. She seemed a little startled, as if Jean had just told her that he was the Queen of England. After a few seconds, she seemed to reset. "Can I please have twenty chicken kebabs and ten—"

     "Whoa, whoa, whoa." Jean went to the counter and let himself out from behind the displays, kneeling in front of the little girl. Cosette shuffled a step or two away from him, and Jean stayed where he was, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. "Those bags looks heavy," he remarked, nodding to the plastic bags hanging off Cosette's arms like dead weights. "Is anyone around to help you?"

     Cosette hesitated, then shook her head mutely. Her hair was pulled back into a scraggly ponytail, clearly unbrushed. She was still dressed in her school uniform, her shoes beaten and worn and her blue shirt washed out with age and use.

     "That's very nice of you, to do your mum's grocery shopping while she's at work, but it's not safe for a girl your age to be wandering around without an adult," Jean said gently.

     "It's not for Mama," Cosette said. "It's for the Thérnardiers."

     Jean's brow crumpled. "Are you shopping for them?"

     "They gave me money." Cosette held out the small bundle in her hands. Along with it was a list.

     Jean slowly outstretched a hand. "Do you mind if I read the list?"

     Cosette pulled it from her fist with her other hand and held it out to him. He took it, scanning the items needed. It wasn't a short list. Jean was astounded. "Can you even read?"

     "I can read grocery shopping lists," Cosette replied.

     "Did they... Did the Thérnardiers tell you to go grocery shopping for them?"

     Cosette nodded. Her eyes were on the grey-white linoleum under her feet.

     Jean shook his head in disbelief. That was not right at all. Fantine should really look into getting better babysitters for her daughter. "Do you do this a lot?"

     "Tuesday," Cosette mumbled.

     "You do this every Tuesday?"

     Cosette nodded.

     "Does your mum know?"

     Cosette shrugged. "I don't know."

     "Do you like grocery shopping for the Thérnardiers?"

     Cosette shook her head minutely.

     Jean thought for a moment. "Do you know who I am?" he asked. "Do you remember me?"

     Cosette lifted her head to study his face, and nodded. "You're my neighbour."

     "Yes, that's right. I'm Jean. And you're Cosette." Jean checked the time. It was an hour and a half before his shift ended, but he would only be gone for half an hour. "Would you like me to help you buy everything and carry it back?"

     Cosette said nothing for a few moments, and then, "Yes please."

     "All right. Give me a moment." Jean stood up, his knees cracking, and untied his apron, throwing it back behind the counter, then flipped the sign on the door around, displaying the 'Back in 5 minutes!' side.

     "Can I buy the meat first?" Cosette asked, and Jean smiled in amusement.

     "Yes, of course," he said with a chuckle. "What do you need?"

~*~*~

     Cosette wasn't particularly chatty, but she always responded politely when Jean asked her a question, and even began smiling, and then giggling, at his attempts to make her happy. Jean hated to pry, but he found himself asking about her life, and this led to questions like whether she actually did sleep alone in her apartment.

     She did. And she also admitted to sometimes wishing she didn't have to, and sometimes being scared. She said that the Thérnardiers were supposed to check on her every so often during the night, but they never did.

     It was easy to see that Cosette didn't like the Thérnardiers. Not at all. She didn't mind their daughters, Éponine and Azelma, even if they were a little nasty at times like her parents, but she was often jealous of them. Éponine and Azelma flounced around in pretty dresses and nice shoes and fancy jewellery, whereas Cosette just had hand-me-downs that Éponine had grown to dislike. Cosette even fit some of Azelma's old clothing.

     Cosette missed her mother. Fantine worked tirelessly, and although Cosette didn't doubt for a second that Fantine loved her to bits, she wondered why she couldn't just spend the night with her more often.

     Jean squeezed Cosette's small hand, which was warm in his grip. Life hadn't dealt her cards fairly.

     When they reached the Thénardier's front door, Cosette took back the spare change and shopping bags, struggling to carry them in her skinny arms — prompting Jean to wonder how on earth she managed this every week on her own — and smiled at him. "Thank you for helping me, Jean," she said.

     "The pleasure was all mine, Cosette," Jean replied, and he truly meant it. "Maybe I can help you next Tuesday, too, if you want me to."

     Cosette nodded, her smile widening hopefully. "Yes please."

     "You'll know where to find me," Jean said, smiling back. Then he knocked on the door for her, grimacing slightly at the sound of Madame Thénardier's screeching voice from within, and said his final goodbye to Cosette before slipping away, his thoughts filled with all the different ways he could possibly help the little girl and her weary mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, now the real story has begun. Here we go! xx


	5. The one where Jean and Cosette become unlikely friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one, sorry; but the next one is super long! xx

     It became routine. Every Tuesday, Cosette would make her way to the butcher, and Jean would take half an hour to an hour to help her with the shopping. Sometimes he would buy her a milkshake or chocolate bar, but she could never hang around, lest she get in trouble for dawdling.

     It took a little while, but soon Cosette grew to start chatting away like any other six-year-old, telling Jean about her week at school and what she did on the weekend and what game she and Éponine and Azelma made up and _have you met Éponine and Azelma yet, Jean? You should really meet them, they're fun, when they’re not being mean, and I do like them, even though they get all the nice clothes and their mama and papa are very nice to them but they're not nice to me, but that's okay because they're their daughters and I'm just a nuisance that they have to take care of, well at least that's what Madame tells me._

     And Jean, in return, told her about his life, although there wasn't much to tell. He avoided saying much about his past, but he told her about his sister and her son, even though they didn't often keep in touch. He told her his visions for how his apartment was going to look when he had the money to properly decorate it, and that she and her mother could visit one day. Cosette told him that she'd like that very much.

     Jean finally made the journey to the bigger town half an hour away, but instead of looking for job prospects, he found himself browsing for dressers and nice lamps and a dining table with matching chairs and a flatscreen TV and all kinds of fancy things that he dreamt of one day owning. One day. One day, he would own them. Just not today.


	6. The one where it all goes wrong for Fantine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! xx

     Now that Cosette had firmly wriggled her way into his life and his heart, Jean began to see Fantine more, although not regularly. She seemed more worn down each day, and, despite Cosette's ease in his presence, remained wary of him, understandably. Once she even confronted him about spending time with Cosette, but he assured her that he had no sinister agenda — he only wanted to help.

     Fantine was a ghost of a woman, with pallid skin and drawn cheeks and what appeared to be a chronic cough, and she was obviously working herself into an early grave. Jean wanted to help her as much as he wanted to help Cosette, but she seemed to have a stubborn belief that it was her against the world. In fact, Jean believed that would never win her over, until late one night, when he was awoken by the sound of frantic knocking on his front door. Groaning, he checked the time. Four thirty-two. Rubbing his eyes, he made his way to the door, and when he opened it, he found a pyjama-clad Cosette, her face red and wet with tears. Jean's heart flew into a gallop of panic, and he dropped to his knees. "Cosette? What's wrong?"

     "Mama," Cosette whimpered, her breath shuddering. She took his hand and tugged on it. "My mama won't wake up."

     Stomach plummeting, Jean swept Cosette up in his arms and hurried across the hall to the Fauchelevent apartment. The door was unlocked from when Cosette had left, and Jean threw it open. Fantine was unconscious on the floor in the middle of the room, beside the couch.

     Jean set Cosette down and ran over, kneeling beside Fantine. "What happened?" he asked Cosette urgently.

     Cosette hiccupped. "I don't know. She woke me up when she fell over."

     "Did she take anything? Medication or alcohol?"

     "I don't know. No."

     Jean checked Fantine's pulse. It was steady, and she was breathing. She also had a very high temperature.

     "Cosette, has she been sick?" Jean asked. "Do you think she's been unwell lately?"

     "Her skin was hot and she was sneezing and coughing. I don't know. Is she sick?"

     Jean frowned. At least it didn't sound like she'd overdosed on anything. "I think she might have the flu."

     "The flu?" Cosette shuffled closer. "Is she okay?"

     "Let's get her to bed first." Jean gently rolled Fantine over — noting with confusion that she was dressed in a skimpy, revealing outfit underneath her coat — and slid his hands under her neck and knees, lifting her. She was as light as a feather. Cosette led him to her mother's room and pulled back the covers, and Jean settled the sickly woman into her bed. He fiddled with her high heels, slipping them off her feet.

     "Do you have a thermometer, Cosette?" he asked, pulling the covers up around Fantine's chin.

     "A themom... A what?"

     "Something that measures your temperature. A little stick you put in your mouth."

     "Oh. I think so."

     "Do you want to go and get it?"

     Cosette nodded and hurried away.

     Jean put a hand to Fantine's sweat-dampened forehead. He didn't have much experience caring for people, but damned if he wasn't going to do his utmost.

     What did people need? Water. And painkillers. Lots of each. And food. What did people with the flu eat? Broth?

     Cosette returned with a thermometer and Jean thanked her, turning it on and slipping it into Fantine's mouth.

     "Now, Cosette, you stay here and keep an eye on her, and I'll go and get some things," he said, picking Cosette up and setting her down on the bed.

     Cosette's eyes widened. "Are you leaving?" she asked frantically.

     "I'll only be in the kitchen, I promise," Jean replied, touching her cheek. Then he went about gathering a glass of water and some medication, and bringing it back to Fantine's room.

     "What are we gonna do?" Cosette asked in a small voice, watching her mother. The thermometer beeped, and Jean checked the reading. Well, no hospital was needed, thank God, but definitely lots of rest. Hopefully the fever would break overnight.

     "What your mum needs most is sleep," Jean said. "She's not well. We've made her nice and warm, and so, when she wakes up, she'll take these painkillers, and we'll make sure she stays in bed so she can get better as soon as possible."

     "But she'll be okay?"

     "I think so."

     Cosette nodded and sniffed, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. "Okay."

     "All right," Jean said, stretching. "I'll be just across the hall if you need me. You going to be okay?"

     "Can you stay?" Cosette asked. "Please?"

     Jean hesitated. If Fantine woke up and found him in her home, he couldn't imagine it'd go down well. But Cosette was looking up at him with those blue eyes that were shining with unshed tears, so how could he say no to that?

     "Okay, I'll stay," he said. "Let me just get my pillow and blanket and I'll sleep on the couch."

     Cosette nodded. Jean smoothed her hair back with his hand. "How about you go and splash some water on your face to get rid of those tears, and when I come back I'll tuck you into bed?"

     Cosette smiled. "Okay," she said, and disappeared from the room.

     Jean headed back to his room and took his duvet and pillow from his bed, then grabbed his keys and phone, then locked the door on the way out.

     He arranged his pillow and duvet on the battered couch, and made his way to Cosette's room. It was small — in his apartment, this room was now only for storage but he hoped it would become a study or some kind of drawing room, if people had those still — and the walls were scattered with various drawings that had been stuck up haphazardly, obviously by Cosette herself. It was sad, really; that Cosette had no one to stick them up for her.

     Cosette was sitting upright in her little bed, fingering the top of her blanket absentmindedly. She perked up when Jean entered, but he could see the nervousness in the crease in between her brows. "Hey," Jean said softly. "C'mon, you, lie down. Your mum is going to be fine."

     Cosette snuggled down under the covers, and Jean made sure she was tucked in well, then perched himself on the edge of her bed. "Do you think you'll be able to get back to sleep?" he asked, stroking her hair gently.

     She hesitated, gnawing on her thumbnail. "What if Mama doesn't wake up?"

     "She will," Jean said. "Cosette, I promise you, she will. She has a high fever, and she probably collapsed because she is sick and exhausted, but we put her to bed, and she is going to be absolutely fine."

     "Promise?"

     "Cross my heart." He hoped he was right.

     Cosette seemed more satisfied with that. She sighed. "Okay."

     "And I'll be in the living room if you need me."

     Cosette nodded. "Thank you, Jean."

     "Not a problem." Jean leant forward and pressed his lips delicately to Cosette's forehead, then whispered goodnight, and went to the living room to settle in for what was left of the night.

 

~*~*~

 

     His phone alarm went off at the usual time that morning, at six thirty, and he groaned, rubbing his face. It took a moment or two for him to remember that he wasn't in his apartment, and realised quickly that he couldn't leave Fantine on her own all day, especially not when Cosette would be at school. So he sat up and called his boss, explaining the situation and apologising profusely. His boss was very generous in her acceptance, and let Jean take the day off.

     While he was up, he went in to check Fantine. She was still asleep, and, just as he had hoped, her fever had broken during the night. She breathed more easily now, and her temperature had gone down considerably.

     Jean felt a swell of relief. He had tossed and turned last night, plagued with thoughts of, what if he had misjudged, and she actually did need to go to hospital? What if she didn't have the flu, but some other virus, and she died in the middle of the night? What would he tell Cosette? He had promised her that her mother would be okay.

     Speaking of Cosette, he stopped off at her room, too. She was fast asleep, her blonde hair a wild mess around her head. But she, too, was okay.

     Happy, Jean went back to the couch to hopefully get a little more sleep, but soon discovered that that wasn't going to happen. What time did Cosette get up for school? He had no idea.

     He searched through their fridge. It was depressingly bare, as were their cupboards, apart from a packet of cornflakes, an almost-empty carton of milk, and some cans of tuna. Dirty plates, bowls and cups cluttered up the sink. It was positively foul. The place clearly wasn't used very much.

     Jean began methodically cleaning the kitchen, hand-washing the dishes and utensils and drying them before putting them away. He ducked back to his apartment to grab some surface cleaner and a cloth and began wiping down the benches, and the dining table too, while he was at it. By the time he finished it was almost seven-thirty, and he was yet to get dressed.

     Cosette wandered into the living room a minute or so later, yawning and rubbing her eye.

     "Good morning, Cosette," Jean said, washing his hands and drying them on his pants. "How did you sleep?"

     "Good." Cosette yawned again. "My mama's still asleep."

     "Yes, but her fever's gone down. She's already on the mend."

     Cosette nodded. "That's good."

     "I'm staying with her today, if that's okay," Jean added. "So I can be there if she needs help."

     "Thank you," Cosette said.

     "Well, I couldn't very well leave her on her own, could I?" Jean out his hands on his hips. "Now, what would you like for breakfast?"

     "I normally have cornflakes."

     "Every morning?"

     "That's all we have."

     "Well, how about eggs? Do you like eggs?"

     "I never really had them."

     Jean made an exaggerated shocked face, making Cosette giggle. "Never? Well, prepared to have your world changed. I can make mean scrambled eggs."

     Cosette grinned. "Okay. Mean scrambled eggs."

     "Let me just pop back to my apartment to get what I need. I won't be a minute. How about you get dressed while I'm there?"

     Cosette clapped her hands and hurried away. From his apartment, Jean grabbed eggs, milk, salt, bread, and butter, as well as his saucepan, and he had just poured the batter into the hot pan when Cosette made her appearance. "Mm, yummy," she said appraisingly. She stood next to Jean, peering into the pan, on her tiptoes. "They look funny."

     "But they taste amazing," Jean said. "They'll be done very soon; how about you set the table for both of us?"

     By the time both the eggs and toast were finished, Cosette was seated patiently at the table, her legs swinging. Jean buttered the toast and served them both, then heaped the scrambled eggs, and finished with a sprinkle of salt.

     Cosette's eyes lit up, and Jean could practically see her mouth watering at the sight and smell.

     Jean sat down. "Well, go on. Dig in."

     Cosette dived in, inhaling the eggs with a gusto that rivalled Jean's nephew. "When do you need to be at school?" Jean asked.

     "The Thénardiers pick me up at fifteen to nine," Cosette replied in between bites. "But I woke up early today coz I wanted to check on Mama. And you."

     "You wanted to check on me?" Jean asked with a smile.

     "I wanted to make sure you hadn't left," Cosette said.

     Jean frowned. "But I said I wouldn't."

     Cosette shrugged. "Mama says she'll be there every night to tuck me in, but most of the time she isn't."

     Jean's heart sank in pity. "Well," he said definitively, "I'm sure that's not your mum's fault. But I said I would stay, so I did. I wouldn't ever leave you and your sick mum alone. That would just be mean."

     Cosette giggled. "Okay," she said, but she still sounded unsure.

     They continued to eat. Jean noted that Cosette kept having to push her hair out of her face to eat, and couldn't help but ask, "Have you ever brushed your hair?"

     "I lost my brush."

     "When?"

     "Five weeks ago. Maybe four. I don't know."

     "Don't the Thénardiers ever lend you a brush?"

     "No."

     Jean blinked. God, who were these people? "Well, maybe we can get you a new one?"

     Cosette hummed in thought. "You don't have to. I'm okay without it."

     "I'd like to buy you one, if you'd let me."

     "Really?"

     "Really," Jean said.

     Cosette smiled. "Can I have a yellow one?"

     "I'll do my best. What if I can't find a yellow one?"

     Cosette thought very hard. "Orange, please."

     Jean nodded. "Duly noted."

     When they were finished eating, Cosette went to take Jean's plate, but Jean stopped her. "No, it's fine," he said. "Thank you Cosette, but you don't have to take my plate."

     "The Thénardiers make me take their plates," Cosette said as Jean collected the plates and took them to the sink, passing them under the running tap for a few moments.

     "Do they?" Jean asked idly, his blood beginning to boil.

     "Mm-hmm."

     Jean let the plates fall into the sink and turned back to Cosette, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Well, I don't know about you, but I don't like the sound of these Thénardiers one little bit."

     Cosette shook her head enthusiastically.

     "It doesn't sound like they're very nice to you at all, are they?"

     "No."

     "So maybe, until your mum is better, I can babysit you instead. How's that sound?"

     Cosette cheered, jumping up and down, and then threw her arms around Jean's neck. "Thank you thank you thank you!" she cried.

     Jean laughed and hugged her close. "The pleasure's all mine, Cosette." He let her go and checked the time. "Look at that, we have all the time in the world. How about I go and see how your mum's doing, then we duck up to the shops to buy you a hairbrush?"

     "Will Mama be okay on her own?"

     "We'll only be a few minutes. We'll drive up, so it's faster."

     "Okay." Cosette nodded enthusiastically.

     "Good." Jean dropped a kiss to her head. "Let me get dressed first."

 

     Jean had never brushed anyone else's hair before. Perhaps his sister's, when they were young, but not for many years. So when Cosette asked him to brush her hair while she brushed her teeth, he was at first hesitant, but then he found himself with the brush in one hand and Cosette's hair in the other, and he supposed that he didn't have much of a choice.

     "I don't want to hurt you," he said nervously as Cosette squeezed the life out of the practically empty toothpaste tube onto her little sparkly blue toothbrush, her tongue sticking out between her teeth and her nose scrunched in effort.

     "You won't," she said. "I'm tough." Pleased with the amount of toothpaste on the bristles, she began to brush her teeth vigorously.

     Jean carefully began to brush Cosette's hair. It was awfully tangled, and Jean winced whenever he tugged on a knot. He had made embarrassingly little progress by the time Cosette had finished brushing her teeth.

     Cosette sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes, then rinsed her mouth out. "Let me do it," she said exasperatedly, which, if he was being honest, made Jean smile to himself.

     "Sorry," he said, hiding the smile behind his hand as Cosette took the brush off him and faced the mirror again, proceeding to yank it through her hair.

     "It's okay," she added, the two words punctuated by soft grunts. "You'll get better." Jean was a little alarmed — surely Cosette had to be tearing out her hair follicles with the kind of force she was applying — but Cosette seemed relatively unbothered.

     There was a knock on the door a few minutes later, while Jean was quickly washing up the plates and he and Cosette were checking on Fantine for the last time before they went out again.

     "Uh-oh," Cosette said.

     "Don't worry, I'll get it," Jean said, squaring his shoulders and walking to the door.

     Just as he expected, the Thénardiers stood there, their little Éponine and even littler Azelma hovering behind them. The woman instantly went to start yelling for Cosette, but the words died in her mouth when she realised that a man was standing in front of her, not a six-year-old girl. "Monsieur," Madame Thénardier said with what appeared to be a mixture between a sickly smile and a sneer. "We're here to fetch little Cosette for school. And collect last night's payment for babysitting her."

     "That won't be necessary," Jean said. "I'm her new babysitter for now. Your payment will come, but Fantine is very ill right now."

     "Her new babysitter?" Monsieur Théndardier repeated, his lip curling. "We were not informed of this... change of hands."

     "Apologies for the inconvenience," Jean said bluntly, and went to close the door with a hurried, "Have a nice day," but he was blocked.

     "I believe we deserve compensation," Monsieur Thénardier said. "I mean, we love little Colette very much. We're heartbroken that we would be replaced."

     Jean had never heard anything so fake in his life. "I'm sorry," he said tightly. "But Fantine is in no condition to discuss compensation or anything of the like right now."

     "Perhaps we can settle a bill with your assistance," Madame Thénardier said.

     "I need to get Cosette to school," Jean said. "And you need to get your daughter to school. I will contact you when Fantine is well enough to speak with you."

     Monsieur Théndarider's fat bottom lip trembled with what Jean guessed was frustration. "But our darling Colette—"

     "Cosette," Madame Thénardier cut in with a forced smile. "We'll miss her so much, won't we, Éponine? Azelma?"

     The two sisters remained silent.

     "I'm sure you'll live without her," Jean said. "Goodbye." He quickly closed the door in their faces. Sighing heavily, he turned around.

     Cosette popped her head up over the couch. "Are they gone?"

     "I think so." Jean rubbed his temple. "You put up with them every day?"

     "They're not very nice."

     Jean checked the time. It was time to leave. "Right, do you have everything?"

     Cosette thought for a moment. "Uh, my lunch."

     "Your lunch?" Jean blanched. "Uh... Well, what do you want?"

     Cosette bit her lip. "The Thénardiers usually just give me money."

     Jean didn't want to just give her money like the Thénardiers did. He wanted to be better than that. "Okay, how about we grab something on the way to school? You can decide what you want in the car. How's that sound?"

     Cosette nodded. "Wait, let me check on Mama before we go."

     Jean followed her into Fantine's room. Cosette hurried to the edge of the bed and put her little hand on Fantine's cheek. "Get better, Mama," she said. Then she turned to Jean. "Okay, let's go."

     Jean leant over to press the back of his hand on Fantine's forehead — her temperature was high, but stable — and then ushered Cosette out the door, her backpack in his hand.

 


	7. The one where Jean does not become unlikely friends with Fantine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I feel like it's taking ages for this to progress! Is that just me? Maybe because I have all these chapters I can't wait to post, and I want to post all of them RIGHT NOW, but I can't, because I'm still writing the next instalment in the series, and I have to give myself time. But I just really want to show you guys the best parts of this story!   
> But anyway, enough of my rant.   
> If you've gotten this far, I thank you whole-heartedly, and hope you enjoy this chapter and the thirteen more chapters to come xx

     When he arrived back at the Fauchelevent apartment, he felt exhausted, but oddly fulfilled. It had felt so natural, caring for Cosette, and although he'd never done the 'school run' before, he had to admit he didn't mind it. In fact, it was nice, having someone to spend the morning with. He'd never had any interest in finding a romantic partner, and he'd never really seriously considered the possibility of children. But if, one day, he had a little child like Cosette, then he would be very happy indeed.

     He went in to check on Fantine, and found her awake, her eyes heavy-lidded but unmistakably open. She stared at him when he walked into the room, the distrust in her eyes not quite showing on her face, as exhausted as she was. But it didn't need to - her gaze was enough for Jean to know exactly where she stood.

     "Fantine," Jean said, his voice pitched high in his surprise, freezing in his tracks. He didn't know exactly how to react. "You're awake."

     Fantine licked her dry, cracked lips, but seemed to second-guess the idea of talking, and remained silent.

     "You're sick," Jean explained. "Cosette fetched me early this morning. You'd collapsed and you had a high fever. You still have a high fever. You actually should probably take some medication..."

     "Cos—ette," Fantine croaked. It was more of a broken whisper than anything else.

     "She's at school," Jean supplied quickly. "I dropped her there. I've taken the day off work to care for you."

     Fantine's eyebrows pressed together ever so slightly, a tiny twitch.

     "Are you thirsty? Hungry?" Jean realised the water by her bed must have been stagnant by now, and darted forward to fetch it. Fantine flinched. Jean recoiled.

     "Sorry," he said. "I just... Your water." He pointed vaguely towards it, and inched forward to pick it up. Fantine watched him in a way that reminded him of a frightened horse.

     "Are you hungry?" he said again. "I can make you something to eat."

     Fantine shifted, adjusting her position, and froze. "My... cl—" Her voice caught, her throat dry. "Clothes." She must have forgotten what she'd been wearing.

     "Yes, I just left them. I didn’t think I should change them." It was a sad attempt at a joke - so sad, in fact, that even Jean himself didn't smile.

     Fantine again looked like she wanted to say something, but let it go. She shuddered, drawing the blankets more tightly around her.

     "Are you cold? Do you want another blanket?" Jean ducked out of the room without waiting for a reply and took Cosette's blanket from her bed, refilling the glass of water while he was there.

     "I really think you should take the medication," he said earnestly when he entered her room again, laying the blanket over her. "It'll help you get better more quickly."

     Fantine seemed to ponder this for a long time, and then nodded minutely.

     Jean was relieved. "Great." He paused. "Um, you should eat first, though. Before you take them."

     Fantine glared at him, another shiver going through her, and Jean shuffled under her gaze. "Just to help speed up the process," he added.

     Fantine pursed her lips, and then nodded.

     "All right, I'll just get you something. Toast? Yes? Okay." He set down the glass and hurried to the kitchen, putting a slice of bread in the toaster. The three minutes it took to toast seemed like an eternity, and he was quick to butter it and take it to her room when he was done. She, painfully slowly, snaked a hand out from under the covers and took the slice, nibbling on it. Jean waited patiently with the empty plate on which the toast had been.

     She only managed a few mouthfuls before holding the toast out again, and Jean let it fall back onto the plate, and set the plate on her bedside table. "Okay, now the medication," he said, and moved to help her sit up, but she shrunk away. Jean held up his hands, conceding, and stood back as Fantine struggled to sit up, her face screwed up in effort. Her nose scrunched in the same way Cosette's did, Jean noticed.

     Eventually, looking positively drained by the event, Fantine was sitting up. Jean handed her the water and tablets, and she took them, then made her way back down again. Jean was reminded what she was wearing underneath those blankets, and wondered if it would be out of line to suggest helping her change into something more comfortable. He decided it was.

     As soon as Fantine was comfortable again, her eyes slid closed, and she was as good as asleep. Jean nodded to himself, then took the barely-touched toast out to the kitchen.

 

     Jean busied himself that day with making the apartment liveable. After he'd finished washing, drying and putting away the dishes, he swept the floors with a broom from his room, and then made Cosette's bed and tidied her room — not that it was a pigsty, but she _was_ only six — and used a wet cloth to wipe clean the many dusty surfaces around the house. He took the old rug from the living room and opened a window, banging it against the wall outside to air it out. He cleaned the bathroom as well, until it sparkled.

     In between his great tasks, he checked on Fantine. She occasionally woke, but for no more than a few minutes at a time. Her body and mind were exhausted. They needed rest.

     The medication brought her temperature down marvellously, and Jean remembered to keep track of how long it had been since her first dose, so he could give her another when she was due.

     When he was done cleaning — it was mid-afternoon — he decided that the fridge was in dire need of stocking. He didn't have a lot of money to spare — what he did have spare always went to his Apartment Decoration Fund — but he journeyed to the shops and used what he had to buy the essentials, including some two-minute noodles and ready-made meals. Things that Fantine, or even Cosette, could throw together when they needed something quick and easy.

     He was partway through filling up the fridge and pantry when he heard a thump coming from down the hall. He immediately dropped everything and ran to Fantine's aid. The woman was on the ground in a heap, her foot caught in the blankets.

     "Fantine," Jean exclaimed, dashing to help her up, but she made a dismissive gesture, and he was forced to sit back helplessly as she futilely attempted to drag herself back into bed.

     Jean couldn't remember a time when he had felt so cruel as to not help a frail, sickly woman climb back into bed, even if that frail, sickly woman had forbid him from doing so. "If I could just—"

     Fantine cut him off with a harsh, _Shh_.

     The effort was clearly too much for her. After a few minutes of struggle, Fantine gave in. "Help," she croaked, and Jean rushed to her aid, gripping her by the arms and hauling her back onto the bed. It wasn't very difficult. Certainly not as difficult as Jean believed that it should have been.

     Fantine gripped the blankets on her lap, her face a deep red, but Jean saw no reason for her to be embarrassed.

     "Can I ask what you were trying to do?" Jean asked.

     Fantine said nothing.

     Jean sighed. "Okay, whatever you want." His eyes fell on the clock in the room. "I have to go pick Cosette up now. Sleep if you want to, but please, just take care of yourself."

     Fantine had no response, and Jean did not wait for one.


	8. The one where Fantine was expecting the worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the one and only chapter with the very, very subtle implication of sexual abuse. I hope this doesn't bother anyone too much. Thank you for reading! xx

     Cosette was thrilled to see her mother alive and relatively well. She plopped herself on the end of Fantine's bed and started babbling away, telling both her and Jean about her day at school. Jean asked a few questions to show his interest, which Cosette happily gave answers to, and Fantine listened in silence, smiling whenever Cosette's eyes landed on her. Eventually, though, Jean said, "All right, Cosette, let's leave your mum to rest. There's only so much talking she can handle," and ushered Cosette from the room.

     Jean spent a second night at their apartment. Cosette helped him cook up a simple meal of chicken and mashed potatoes, and supervised very carefully as Jean gave Fantine her medication.

     It was when Cosette went to bed and Jean was checking in with Fantine that Fantine, despite her exhaustion, spoke to him.

     "Jean," she said as he was just about to leave, stopping him in his tracks.

     Jean instantly turned back. "Yes?"

     Fantine clenched her jaw as she hesitated. "May I... talk with you?"

     Her voice was soft and rough, so it was difficult to understand her, but Jean nodded, walking back over to the bed. "Of course."

     Fantine gestured for Jean to kneel beside to bed, and he did so.

     "I am… grateful. For your help," Fantine said, her eyes on the bed. "But..."

     "Yes?" Jean prompted gently.

     "I understand that help comes with a cost, and—"

     "A cost?" Jean shook his head. "No, Fantine. It would be cruel to ask you for money."

     Fantine pursed her lips into a white line. "I know I don't have much money, and I understand that, but if you could just wait until I'm better..."

     Jean's brow furrowed. "The alternative?"

     Fantine's eyes flashed up to him. "Why do you sound so confused?"

     "What do you mean, the alternative?"

     Fantine's gaze lifted to his again, but this time it stayed there. "I don't understand."

     "I don't understand," Jean replied.

     "Surely you must know... You've seen me..." Fantine's brow creased ever so slightly. "I know you've been using Cosette. So I owe you. And now you're helping me. You see me at night, leaving. You must know what I do."

     Jean remained silent. He had made some assumptions, but he had no idea where Fantine was going with this. And _using_ Cosette? To get to Fantine? He had been doing nothing of the sort.

     Fantine's face was concrete — the only hint of the emotions rolling inside her the occasional tremble of her chin.

     Jean blinked. "Fantine, I have no idea what you're talking about," he confessed helplessly. "I don't want anything from you; not money or anything else. I'm doing this because I want to. Because you're a single mum with a lovely daughter whom I've grown very fond of, and you need help. What kind of a person would I be if I let you suffer?"

     Fantine's eyes were hard. "I'm a prostitute, Jean. I'm a waitress during the day and a prostitute at night."

     Suddenly it clicked. "You thought I would want you to sleep with me in payment for me helping you?"

     Tears welled in Fantine's eyes, but her facial expression betrayed no emotion other than nonchalance. "It's what any other man would want," she said, her voice catching slightly.

     Jean felt the blood rush from his face. Perhaps that explained why Fantine was so hostile towards him. "Fantine, no," he said fervently. "No. No, I don't want that at all. I just want you to be better so you can take care of Cosette. And so you can be well again. I don't want... No."

     "Then what do you want?"

     Jean shook his head. "Nothing," he insisted. "Maybe for you to accept my help more. But that's all."

     It was then that Fantine's face softened — just slightly — into something more vulnerable. "Really?"

     "Of course," Jean said. He went to rest a hand on hers, but thought better of it. "I'm sorry if you thought anything different. That must have been stressful for you."

     "What about taking care of Cosette?"

     "What about it?"

     "Do you not want payment for that? The Thénardiers keep asking for more and more — surely it's expensive taking care of someone else's child."

     Jean frowned. "I think the Thénardiers are greedy. Believe it or not, I'm actually very fond of Cosette, and I think she likes me too. I'm more than happy to care for her."

     Fantine finally broke then, a soft sob escaping her. Jean panicked and grabbed a tissue for her, and she took it gratefully, crying into it. "Thank you," she said, her voice wobbling. "Thank you, Jean, thank you." Her hand shaking, she wrapped her cold fingers around his warm ones, and Jean placed his other hand over hers.

     "Sleep now," Jean said gently. "Get better."

     Fantine sniffed and nodded.

     Jean didn't know if it was the best time to ask, but while he was here: "I can't skip work tomorrow. Will you be okay on your own?"

     Fantine nodded again. "Yes. Yes, thank you."

     Jean smiled sadly. "Sleep well, Fantine."

     "You too, Jean," Fantine replied in a whisper, and Jean let her sleep.


	9. The one where Jean falls into a routine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, again, two chapters today, because these are short. A massive thank you to those who have commented and/or left kudos :) And a thank you to anyone who has read this! I hope you've enjoyed it so far, and I hope you'll enjoy the chapters to come xx

     Jean woke up early the next morning. He showered and dressed, then prepared Cosette's lunch. Then he counted out the number of tablets that Fantine would need throughout the day, put them in a cup, and made her two sandwiches that would last the day. He wrote her a note giving her strict instructions when to take the tablets, and also wrote his phone number down if she needed anything. He carefully let himself into her room and set down the small arrangement on her bedside table, adding her mobile phone and a large glass of water to top it all off. Then, satisfied, he helped Cosette get ready, dropped her at school, and was welcomed with open arms back at the butcher.


	10. The one where Jean and Fantine heal in different ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't wait to show you guys the chapter after this one; I'm really proud of it. And if it hasn't already, this chapter is where the major fluff begins... Hope you like it! xx

     The next few days proceeded similarly, and with each day, Fantine would grow a little stronger, smile a little more, talk a little more. The purple bruises beneath her eyes faded, and her face blossomed with colour. Jean discovered that she had the most ridiculous, full-bellied laugh, which often ended in a snort that sent him senseless with laughter himself, and her singing voice was just as incredible to listen to. Her sense of humour was twisted and took some getting used to, but it was wonderfully witty and kept Jean on his toes. Cosette seemed just as thrilled that her mother was alive, and, truly, living, whereas for so many years she had been like a walking corpse.  
     Fantine discovered that even though she wasn't working, the money she would have spent on the Thénardier's caring of Cosette she could now put to better use; like paying for the room. She pitched in every so often with food, but now that Jean only really ever visited his own apartment to shower and get a new change of clothes each day and to sleep at night, he found, much to his frustration, that he was spending a lot of money renting a room that he barely used. He cracked into his Apartment Decoration Fund to help.  
     The Thénardiers eventually stopped knocking, although Cosette saw Éponine and Azelma at school.  
     Eventually, Fantine grew strong enough to walk around the house on her own, although she sometimes needed Jean's helping hand. And each night, the three of them would sit around the dining table, and Cosette would babble on about what she learnt in school, and Jean would talk about his, and at the end of each meal, Fantine would give them a rating out of ten in regards to how well she felt.  
     The day stretched into weeks. Fantine was well enough to work again, and went back to waitressing, although Jean helped her look for a job that would be of better pay.  
     It was one night, a night just like any other, with Cosette attempting to recount something apparently hilarious that her friend had done at school, and Fantine and Jean futilely trying to follow, when Jean now realised that he not only had what he’d always wanted – some company and friends – but he also had what he’d never dreamed over ever having: a family.


	11. The one where Jean becomes 'Papa'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm particularly fond of this one. Hope you like it! xx

     A few days after that, just by coincidence, was the first time Cosette called Jean ‘Papa’.

     Jean had been driving Cosette home from school, and he had been watching a particularly nervous new driver in front of him, only half paying attention to what Cosette was saying. It took him a moment or two to realise that she had been saying, "Papa, are you listening? Papa."

     Jean's heart leapt, his eyes flicking up to the rear view mirror to watch Cosette, and he almost drove into the back of the slow learner driver. "What was that, Cosette?" he said, dumbstruck.

     "I said, Phillipe said something funny today."

     "No, what did you call me?"

     Cosette paused, a look of guilt creeping into her face. "Papa."

     "Why'd you call me that?"

     "Because you're like my papa." Cosette's brow creased. "Please don't be mad."

     Jean blinked. "Mad? I'm not... Cosette, I'm not mad. I just... It threw me off guard."

     "I'm sorry."

     "No, no, it... It's fine." And it was. Jean laughed — what a ridiculous idea: him, a father — but found his smile wouldn't go away. "You can call me that, if you want. But," he added, "why do you think I'm like your dad?"

     "Because you take care of me and Mama," Cosette said simply. "And because you love me and I love you."

     Jean grinned. "Yes, I do love you."

     "And you love Mama."

     Jean's smile wavered. "Well... That's... a bit... different."

     "What do you mean?"

     Jean hesitated. He'd never really pinpointed how he felt about Fantine. "I..."

     "Don't you love my mama?"

     "Cosette, it's not that simple," Jean said gently.

     Cosette's chin wobbled. "Are you going to leave us?"

     Jean's eyes widened. "Leave you? What? No! No, no, no. Cosette, sweetie, what did I tell you? I'll never leave you, ever. I said I would stay. I'm not leaving."

     "Then why don't you love Mama?"

     Jean was thankful they were almost home. "No, I... Do you mind if we talk about this when we get home?"

     Cosette nodded, looking glum.

~*~*~ 

     Fantine was there to greet them, still in her blacks from waitressing. She ran a hand through her short, blonde hair as she often did when she was ready for a rest, but wore a wide smile as she knelt down, welcoming Cosette into a warm hug. "Hey, you," she said, kissing Cosette's temple. "How was school?"

     "Good," Cosette replied, pulling back and shrugging her bright pink backpack from her shoulders. She unzipped it and pulled out her lunchbox and a piece of paper. "Look what I got," she said, holding out the paper.

     "What is it?" Fantine rose and took both items, placing the lunchbox on the kitchen counter as she scanned the page, and gasped. "An award for best handwriting in the class? Well done, sweetheart!"

     "Papa wants to talk to you," Cosette said without preamble, and Jean's palms grew very clammy.

     Fantine frowned. "Papa?" She looked to Jean, who shrugged helplessly.

     "He doesn't love you," Cosette added, and she sounded a little bitter about it.

     Jean humphed as Fantine's frown deepened in confusion. "Cosette!"

     Cosette pouted, crossing her arms. "He said so."

     Jean sighed. "That's not... Fantine, can we...?" He gestured to the hallway, and Fantine nodded, albeit hesitantly.

     "Sure," she said slowly. "Cosette, why don't you turn on the TV?"

     Cosette sighed melodramatically. "Okay."

     Jean followed Fantine into Fantine's bedroom, closing the door behind them. He sat down on the edge of Fantine's bed, and Fantine joined him. "What's this about?" she asked.

     "I think Cosette may have jumped the gun a bit," Jean said. "She called me 'Papa', and it just kind of... escalated into a whole mess of misunderstanding."

     "Care to help me understand?"

     Jean rubbed his chin. "Look, Fantine," he began. "I don't want there to be... tension between us. No, that's the wrong word. Confusion. Miscommunication."

     "Okay..." Fantine picked at her nails.

     "I love being here," Jean said. "I love taking care of Cosette. I love not being on my own all the time. And I... I..." He swallowed. "I love you, Fantine—"

     "I can't do this," Fantine blurted, standing up abruptly. "I'm sorry, Jean, you've been great, but I'm sorry, I don't love you. I don't want a relationship. And if that's what you think this is going to be—"

     "No," Jean said urgently, scrambling to his feet. "No, you didn't let me finish. I love you, Fantine, but I'm not in love you with you."

     Fantine stared at him. "What?"

     "I think of you as a dear friend. Nothing else. I don't want us to... to be in a relationship, or anything like that."

     A smile began to grow on Fantine's face. "You don't?"

     Jean shook his head fervently. "No, not at all. I don't really ever want one, I don't think. I love you dearly, but only as a friend."

     Fantine's eyes shone with joy and her smile looked like it was hurting her cheeks. "I love you too, Jean."

     They reached for one another, hugging each other close. "I was so scared," Fantine confessed. "I thought you were going to say that you wanted to marry me or something."

     Jean chuckled. "I only want what's best for you, Fantine."

     "Thank you," Fantine whispered.

     Jean kissed her hair. "Thank _you_ ," he replied simply.

     They finally let go of one another, and called Cosette in.

     Jean knelt down in front of her. "Now, I think there's some things we need to sort out," he said. "I love you and I love your mama, but I'm not _in_ _love_ with your mama."

     "We don't want to get married or kiss each other like your friends' parents do," Fantine added. "We love each other like you love your friends."

     Cosette scratched her nose. "Oh," she said. "So you _do_ love her, Papa."

     "Yes, I do," Jean said. "She's my best friend."

     "Okay," Cosette replied. "So I can still call you Papa?"

     "If you want to."

     And so she did.


	12. The one where Cosette asks an important question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we're well and truly over halfway now. Thanks to a suggestion from the lovely Denz-El, I may throw in another chapter if I can't find somewhere to wriggle in that idea. If you've read this far, thank you so much, and I hope you like this chapter xx

     Jean been all but living at apartment 601 for four months when Cosette lifted her head from where she was practicing her handwriting, and said, "Papa, when are you going to move in with us properly?"

     Jean and Fantine, who had been making a dinner of spaghetti Bolognese, paused, and looked at each other. Jean looked into her blue eyes, so much like her daughter's, trying to read them. She was doing the same to him. Then he looked to Cosette. "There aren't enough rooms," he said simply.

     "We can squish. I can move into Mama's room."

     "Sweetheart, you don't have to do that," Fantine said.

     "But Papa never even uses his apartment. It's silly."

     "Jean needs his alone time," Fantine said, glancing to Jean as if for confirmation.

     Jean hesitated. "Actually..."

     Cosette looked up sharply from her work, her young face full of hope, her smile putting on full display the large gap where her two front teeth used to be.

     Jean looked to Fantine. "Really, the only problem is room," he confessed with a shrug. "I mean, I'd love to move in. I practically live here anyway. And Cosette's right — it's a waste of money for me not to use my apartment."

     Fantine put down her chopping knife in thought. "Well, maybe there's another apartment room free," she suggested. "A larger one. We can ask Mr Javert tomorrow, perhaps."

     "No, I like it here," Cosette cried.

     "Well, I can't move into your room, love," Jean said. "It's yours. And as much as she loves you, I think having to share a bedroom with you would be a bit much for your mum."

     Cosette pouted. "I'll be good," she promised. "I won't keep you up, Mama."

     "Plus, there's all of your stuff," Fantine added, gesturing to Jean. "What would we do with that?"

     Jean shrugged. "Sell it."

     "No!" Fantine exclaimed. "No, you can't sell your stuff!"

     "Maybe we can compromise. We'll go through each other's stuff, and pick whatever's better. Then we'll sell the extra. A little more money wouldn't hurt."

     "But where will you sleep?"

     "I can move my bed to the living room. Or bunk in with one of you guys. Or maybe, like you said — maybe there's a room with three bedrooms. Once we sell the furniture we don't need, we can use that money to rent a bigger apartment."

     Fantine pursed her lips as she thought.

     " _Please_ …" Cosette begged with a hopeful smile, dragging out the word.

     Fantine narrowed her eyes, looking to Jean. "I'll think about it."

     "Yay!" Cosette cheered. "Thank you, Mama."

     "I haven't come to a conclusion yet," Fantine warned her. "Not that I don't want you to move in, Jean. It'll just take a lot of planning to execute."

     "I understand," Jean said easily, a small smile on his lips as he turned back to the pan of sizzling minced beef. He knew what the answer would be.


	13. The one about Jean's new life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed yesterday! I'll upload the next chapter tomorrow :) xx

     Seven months later, they had well and truly settled into apartment 822 and said goodbye to apartments 246 and 601. Which, to be fair, were only a floor below them. Javert had been a little suspicious, Jean believed, of why they wanted to move, and mentioned idly that people in the larger apartments often were the rowdiest. Bigger families, bigger problems. Jean paid little heed. It wasn't like they were going to be throwing parties or anything.

     The new place was just as plain as the others, but with three bedrooms instead of two, and a bath as well as a shower. The living room had more breathing space, and the kitchen more elbow room. It wasn't luxurious by any means, but it was just what was needed.

     Cosette's graduation into the next year at school was greatly celebrated. She was allowed to choose dinner that night — Jean's Mean Scrambled Eggs ("I don't care if it's meant to be for breakfast, Papa, I'm grown-up now!"), with chocolate chip cupcakes covered in pink icing for dessert — and was even allowed to stay up past her bedtime to watch a movie with her two parents; the movie being, to their concealed dismay, _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_ , yet again. Cosette knew every single word to every single song, and despite her young age, Jean was often taken aback by her natural singing talent. Just like her mother’s.

     Despite his visions for a future with a more prosperous job, it was Fantine who decided to take the leap. She took the bus into town every morning to work at Target as a sales assistant. But, as Jean told her: first, sales assistant; next, CEO.

     Jean was astounded each and every day by Fantine. Her face was still slim, but full and glowed with health, as did the rest of her body. Her dirty blonde hair now shined, full and down past her shoulder blades. She often had it tied on the top of her head in a knot, and she would tut and express how due she was for a haircut. But she never went through with it.

     Jean would every so often think back to when he had first met her. She had seemed so skeletal and fragile; now she was strong and proud. It had taken him weeks for him to be able to touch her without her flinching, and even now she sometimes had nightmares about the life she used to live. But she held her shoulders back instead of letting them curl in on her, and she held her chin high with a smile on her face. It made Jean's heart swell with happiness.

     He often thought about how he was, when he first arrived at the apartment. How he was withdrawn and perhaps a little bitter with the cards life had dealt him. How he never, not even a little, could have possibly imagined that he would meet such a wonderful woman and her wonderful daughter. How much better he would become because of it.


	14. The one where people just don't get it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's another chapter, on schedule. We're well on our way to the end! Hope you enjoy it xx

     Raising a child as best friends instead of a couple sometimes proved to be... difficult. Perhaps not for Jean and Fantine, but for other people. 'When you get married' seemed to be a common assumption. "When you get married, will you and Cosette take Jean's surname?" "When you get married, will Cosette be the flower girl? How sweet!" "You think raising a child is easy? Well, when you get married, all of that will change. Suddenly you won't have an out." "How long have you two been together? Any plans for making it more serious?"

     And, of course, the fond smiles that turned into a mixture of sour and confusion when people saw that neither Fantine nor Jean were wearing wedding rings.

     There were even passing judgements from Javert. "Are you planning on having any more children?" he asked one day.

     Jean blinked. "I... No, certainly not."

     Javert nodded. "Good."

     The school run was the worst. Jean picked Cosette up from school on Mondays and Wednesdays, and Fantine picked her up every other day. The comments began only a couple of weeks into Jean helping take care of Cosette. "Fantine," said the mother of a boy in Cosette's class, "can I ask a question?"

     Fantine was taken aback — usually none of the other mothers spoke to her, not that she had been doing the school run for that long of a time — but shrugged. "Of course."

     "I... Well, some of the other mums and I – apart from Hélène, of course, her being… well, you know – we couldn't help but notice... Those ghastly Thénardiers no longer take care of Cosette, right? At least, they don't pick her up from school."

     Fantine smiled. "No, they don't."

     The woman raised her eyebrows in interest. "And you look much healthier from the rare times we've you in the past."

     "Yes, I am. Thank you."

     "Could the handsome fellow picking up Cosette on Mondays and Wednesdays have anything to do with that?"

     Fantine paused. "Jean?" she said unsurely.

     "Is that his name?"

     "Well, yes.” She hesitated. “Handsome fellow?"

     "If you don't mind me saying," the woman added. "You're a lucky woman, Fantine."

     Fantine frowned. "I'm sorry?"

     The woman held up her hands in defence. "Out of line? Sorry. We just couldn't help but notice. Can I ask, when did you two meet?"

     "He moved to my apartment building a while ago," Fantine said slowly.

     The woman cooed. "How adorable. And Cosette's taken to him right away, I can see."

     "Yes..."

     "Have you been together for long?"

     Fantine blinked, pulling back sharply. "Together?" she repeated, astounded.

     The woman frowned at her. "Of course."

     "We're not... We're not _together_."

     "Oh, distant relatives, are you?"

     "No. We're friends."

     The woman's eyes widened. "Oh. I see. Well, I'm not one to pass judgement, but I personally don't think that that's the best environment for a child to grow up in. I think a little girl should learn that something like friends with benefits is not—"

     "I'm sorry, I believe you misheard me," Fantine cut in sharply. _Friends with benefits?_ "I said that Jean and I are friends. I never said 'with benefits'. We are not sleeping together; and even if we were, it would be none of your business. Jean and I are very close friends who raise my daughter together because we both love Cosette and she loves us, and it's easier for everyone. And you may think that that is strange and unconventional, but being raised by two people who love each other platonically is better than being raised in a house where a husband and a wife can't stand each other. Hélène and her partner have a much healthier relationship than most of the women here, and she’s not even married, and _yes_ , she’s a _lesbian_ , if you can even bear to stomach that concept. But I'm _not one to pass judgement_."

     The school bell rang, and children began flooding from their classrooms. "Now, if you'll excuse me," Fantine said, trying to hide how her hands were shaking from adrenaline, "I'm going to pick up my daughter and take her home."

     She had always hated confrontations, but she couldn't deny that the dumbfounded look on that woman's face was immensely satisfying.

~*~*~

     Cosette encountered her own problems with her new situation as well. "There’s a man who picks you up from school sometimes," noted her friend Phillipe one day as they played in the sand pit. “Is he your new papa?”

     Cosette pushed her toy truck along the path she had sculpted. "Yes," she replied happily. "His name is Jean."

     Phillipe pondered over this. "That’s a good name,” he said definitively, as if someone’s worth was placed on how _good_ their name was.

     "He's very nice. Much nicer than the Thénardiers."

     Phillipe shushed her. "Éponine might hear you. She's a bully."

     "She's not a bully," Cosette said hesitantly, rolling her truck back and forth, making two deep tracks in the sand. "She just copies her mama and papa. But she can be nice."

     Phillipe finished his sandcastle and set his princess Barbie on top, where she belonged. "I think she's a bully," he said in a loud whisper.

     But it wasn't Éponine that heard them. It was her younger sister, Azelma, who was on her way to the bathroom when she overheard the conversation.

     Outraged, she ran to find her big sister. "'Ponine!" she cried. Éponine was on her own, mashing a stick into the damp dirt, how she often spent her break times. She looked up when she heard Azelma calling her name. "Azelma, you can't be here," she said. "You're too little. It's out of bounds for little kids."

     "I don't care," Azelma said, stomping over to her. She crossed her arms petulantly, looking down at her big sister. "I heard Cosette and her friend talking about you. They called you a bully."

     Éponine frowned. "Why?"

     "I don't know. Cosette's friend just said so."

     Éponine didn't admit it, but that stung. Even though she knew Cosette's friend was right. She was a bully, and she knew that because other kids said so, but she was just copying her mum and dad. But they were bullies to Cosette, too. No other grown-ups treated Cosette that way. Éponine just ignored it, because her parents gave her nice things and pretty clothes. But at school, when everyone wore the same uniform, Éponine just looked like a normal girl who was a bully.

     Éponine sniffed, and realised she was crying. Embarrassed, she curled her arms around her legs, hugging them to her chest.

     "Are you crying?" Azelma asked incredulously.

     "Go away, Azelma," Éponine grumbled.

     And so Azelma did, hurrying back to Cosette, who was still in the sandpit. Azelma stormed right up to her and pushed her over. Cosette fell into the sand with a yelp.

     "Hey!" her friend cried, scrambling to his feet.

     "You made my sister cry!" Azelma yelled at Cosette. "You're mean!"

     Cosette was crying now, too, and making no move to defend herself.

     Luckily, Phillipe was there. "Go away!" he snapped. "You and your sister are nasty little girls and no one likes you because you're both bullies. And your mama and papa made Cosette cry all the time."

     "That's not true," Azelma spat, stamping her foot. "Cosette was being stupid. That's why she cried."

     "No, you're a liar!" Phillipe said. "Your parents were super mean all the time and they said mean things to her. Go away. We don't want you here."

     "I hate you," Azelma sneered at Cosette.

     Phillipe shoved at her. "Get lost."

     Azelma looked like she was two seconds away from punching Phillipe, but turned tail and marched away, arms crossed.

     Cosette was a blubbering mess in the sand, and Phillipe took her to the bathroom to get a drink and a tissue.

 ~*~*~

     The issue was never truly resolved. Cosette and Éponine saw each other from time to time, but rarely spoke. Cosette was always quiet when around her, and Éponine equally so, although for different reasons. The memories of what happened when they were young hung around them like a dark cloud, and thinned out as they grew older, but never fully dissipated. But while Éponine seemed at least somewhat ashamed of what had happened, her sister Azelma continued to be indignant, openly despising Cosette, even though they now had nothing to do with each other. Éponine never tried to change her mind.


	15. The one where Cosette isn't so little anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, we're getting ever closer! Thank you everyone for reading this far, and I hope you enjoy this chapter xx

     The years passed. They did not fly, nor did they crawl; they simply passed. Before they knew it, Cosette was in high school, and Jean found himself growing more distant than he once had been — after all, he couldn't pull Cosette aside and discuss things like puberty with Cosette like Fantine often did. He just didn't have the credibility. He did, however, offer other kinds of advice whenever he could: how to scare off bullies, how to study for tests, how to deal with being on your own when friendship troubles grew just too much.

     Cosette had been a late bloomer when it came to expressing any real interest in boys; at least, as far as her parents knew. In fact, her first date was when she was fifteen, with a boy called James. Jean was very conscious not to be an overbearing, brutish father. He hadn't forbidden dating, or boys, or anything like that. He had told Cosette that he was always there if she needed him to scare any boys off if they were bothering her, but also added that it was important for her to learn how to scare them off herself.

     But even so, when James knocked on the door, dressed in a plain white shirt and black skinny jeans, Jean had a moment of panic. Still, he invited the boy inside while Cosette finished getting ready. James’ braces glinted in the light, and his hazelnut-coloured hair swept across his forehead. They exchanged small-talk. James seemed like a reasonable fellow, if a little lazy with his schoolwork, judging by his dismissive attitude when Jean mentioned school.

     When Cosette emerged, her face lit up when her eyes fell on James, and all negative feelings Jean had had towards the boy vanished. Someone who made Cosette smile like that surely couldn't be a bad person. Especially since Cosette was still self-conscious about her braces.

     "You look nice," James said nervously, after he and Cosette had exchanged a brief hug.

     "Thanks," Cosette said, her cheeks turning red. And she did, in her black leggings and pastel pink top, her hair hanging around her round face in a dead-straight curtain. Jean made a note to check that she had turned the hair straightener off. "You too."

     "Thanks."

     Cosette glanced at Jean. "I hope you didn't scare him too much, Papa," she joked.

     "I did my best not to." Jean went over to her and kissed her on the head. "Don't be out too late. Have fun." He held out his hand to James. The kid's handshake could use a little work, but apart from that, he seemed like a fine young lad.

     "We'll be good," Cosette said with a grin. "Bye."

     "See you later," James added, and they disappeared out the door.

     The two dated for three weeks — quite an achievement, according to Cosette — before parting on amiable terms, due to mutual lost interest. Jean made sure he was on hand to comfort Cosette if need be, but she didn't seem the least bit concerned whatsoever.


	16. The one about Sundays and Jean's notepad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again! Sorry if this chapter seems a little clunky - it used to be two separate chapters but after adding in more content to another chapter, these two had to be put together to make room. Hope you enjoy it all the same xx

     Sunday nights were family nights. No parties, no work. Just the three of them, the two Fauchelevents and the one Valjean. It was Jean's favourite time of the week. It was always a grand dinner, unless they just felt like having take-away, and they would all pitch in to cook. Cosette, as she grew older, seemed to have quite the affinity for it. "It's because you're creative," Fantine would say. "But you're ever more special: you're an all-round creative."

     "That's doesn't make sense," Cosette would reply with a roll of her eyes. "And besides, I can't write, or design, or play a musical instrument."

     "You can sing," Jean would add.

     "Anyone can sing. I'm average at best."

     "Don't say that! You're amazing."

     "You're my papa, that's what you're supposed to say." And then Cosette would laugh and shake her head, turning back to whatever she was whipping up.

     Sometimes they would watch a movie, but most of the time they would sit around the dinner table. They would chat long after the meal was over, until Cosette remembered that she had homework to do, or Fantine was too tired, or Jean couldn't stand the sight of dirty plates on the table any longer.

~*~*~

     Cosette grew into a bright, conscientious, hardworking young woman, and Jean and Fantine loved her with all their hearts. Jean and Fantine never did fall in love with each other — indeed, they also never found anyone else with whom to fall in love — but the thought rarely crossed their mind. They were content with the love they shared.

     Cosette's first job was helping her father at the butcher, when she was sixteen. The family of three were much more well-off than they once had been when separated, but some extra money never hurt.

     Jean kept his notepad from when he first moved into the apartment building, but now, instead of the list being of material possessions he longed for, there was more. Sure, having a flatscreen TV would be great, and he even had a dresser now, but the list was filled with things he was looking forward to. Not even big events, necessarily, just little things to get him through the week. _Sunday night. Seeing Fantine and Cosette this afternoon. My birthday. The new episode of_ The Bachelor – not that he enjoyed it, but Cosette loved it, and he promised to watch it with her every week. _Fantine might be getting a promotion._

     With each passing day, the list grew and grew, and he would tick off each thing as it happened. Sometimes he would add in things that had already happened that had made him happy. _Took Cosette shopping, and we stopped to play with the puppies at the pet shop – almost bought one! Fantine tried baking a cake – the icing was delicious, at least._ Jean kept the notebook in his back pocket at all times, just in case he needed a reminder of how fantastic his life now was – not that he ever needed to be reminded. He knew.


	17. The one about lingering pasts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, only a few chapters left. This chapter is dedicated to Denz-El (whose comments I *will* reply to, I'm sorry I've been slack on that part, thank you for sticking around), who suggested this to me and is incredible. Thank you for your wonderful, insightful comments; it makes me so happy to read them.  
> Anyway, this was so not meant to be this long, but it just got away from me. I did a lot of research for this chapter, and tried to stick to what was canon as much as I could, but I changed a few things here and there so it fit better. Let me know of any outstanding discrepancies; I don't have a beta, so this has all been checked and double-checked by me.  
> Apologies for the long author's note, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! xx

     It was one Sunday afternoon, when the butcher had closed at two o’clock instead of five as it did every Sunday, that Jean decided to forgo his usual lunch out, and opted to head home early. It wasn’t quite yet snowing, but Jean felt as if the sky were only waiting for the least convenient moment to do so. Piling on extra layers, he bid goodbye to his co-worker and hurried home, the tip of his nose numb and his eyes watering slightly.

     Fifteen or so minutes later, thinking of what an incredible toasted sandwich he would whip up in the kitchen for lunch, he pulled off his gloves to dig his keys from his pocket and open the front door. Sighing contentedly, he shoved his gloves into his coat pocket before shrugging off his coat, and tugging off his scarf and beanie and hanging them on the coat rack. He covered his nose with one hand, rubbing the tip of it to bring some feeling back into it, and crouched down to take off his boots. The apartment was warm. Warmer than he would expect if the other household members had been out.

     He knew Cosette had been out all day with her friends, and would be until dinner time. Was Fantine out? Jean hadn’t even thought that she would be at home – she would get home at six, but she always tried to change her shifts on Sundays so she would get home earlier. He pulled off his boots with a grunt, and called out, “Fantine?”

     He waited for a reply that never came, and he shrugged. She would still be work.

     He began gathering ingredients to make a toasted ham, cheese, and tomato sandwich, when he heard a dull thump coming from one of the bedrooms. He froze, his heart leaping into overdrive. “Hello?” he called. Again, no response.

     He tried to push it aside, but he could only fool himself for a few seconds. He grabbed a kitchen knife, gripping it in his fist, and crept towards the bedrooms. He noticed that the doors of his and Cosette’s bedrooms were open, but Fantine’s was closed. Moving as silently as he could, he pressed himself against the door, listening closely.

     It only took him a short time for him to realise that he wasn’t being robbed or attacked. Fantine was crying.

     Jean hurried back to the kitchen to put the knife away, and then stood at the edge of the door, hearing Fantine’s hiccups and faint whimpers, and he knocked hesitantly.

     He heard Fantine gasp, and then the sounds of her crying stopped entirely.

     Jean’s brow crumpled. She was hiding from him?

     “Fantine?” he called gently. “Is everything okay?”

     He heard nothing for a few seconds, then, “Um, I’m fine,” in a thick, trembling voice.

     Jean didn’t want to intrude, but he couldn’t bear to leave her to suffer alone. “I’m making lunch,” he said. “Do you want me to make you something? Or a cup of tea?”

     “No, I’m okay.”

     “I’ll be out here if you need me,” he said, still unsure.

     He had barely moved a step from the door when Fantine stopped him. “Wait.”

     Jean paused. “Yeah?”

     “Can you… Can I have some help?”

     Jean cracked open the door and stepped inside. Fantine was seated next to her bed, her back pressed against the wooden frame, her face blotched with reddish pink splotches and shining with tears. The room was an absolute mess. Clothes littered the floor – some shimmery, some sparkly, some lacy. A cardboard box lay on its side against the wall.

     Jean picked his way over to Fantine, unable to avoid stepping on the clothes – he also noticed two pairs of _very_ high heels, worn and breaking apart somewhat – and knelt down beside Fantine, who had her arms curled around her knees. She looked Cosette’s age.

     Jean lifted his hand. “Are you all right if I touch you?” he asked, and Fantine nodded. He lay his hand on her back, rubbing it soothingly. “What do you need help with?” he asked.

     Fantine sniffed and wiped her face with her hands. “Um, all of this,” she said in a soft voice, gesturing vaguely to the mess.

     “Packing it away?”

     “Getting rid of it.” Fantine’s lips pressed together tightly and fresh tears began to fall. She made an noise of frustration, and laughed weakly, scrubbing at her face. “I’m sorry.”

     “Don’t apologise,” Jean said. He had no idea what she was crying about, but he wasn’t going to ask. “Do you want something to eat first?”

     Fantine shook her head. “No. I just want to get rid of this. Just get it out of here.”

     “All right,” Jean said, his knees cracking as he stood. He began grabbing items of clothing and placing them into the cardboard box. It clicked then that these were clothes that Fantine wore during her time as a prostitute – there wasn’t a lot, but enough to take up quite a lot of room. Not just in the cardboard box, Jean thought. Metaphorically, too.

     He glanced as Fantine every so often as he hid the clothes from her sight. She had her chin resting on her folded arms, and her eyes were staring, unseeing, at the ground.

     When Jean was done, he sat down beside Fantine again. She didn’t acknowledge him, lost in the past.

     “You know,” Jean began in a low voice, barely above a whisper. He cleared his throat. “You know, before I came here, I was… I’d been arrested. I was in jail.”

     Fantine didn’t react for a few moments, but when she did, she straightened up sharply, looking to him. “Jail?” she repeated.

     Jean swallowed. This was the first time he’d spoken of the event since his release. “Yeah. Yeah, jail.”

     Fantine’s brow creased.

     Jean shook his head. “I didn’t kill anyone or anything like that. I – well, my sister and I…” He took a deep breath. “My mother died of cancer when I was very young, and my father in a freak work accident when I was sixteen, and my sister, Jeanne, she was eighteen.” He smiled slightly. “My parents were called Jean and Jeanne, coincidentally. It wasn’t as if my parents just really liked the name ‘Jean’ and decided to call both of us that.

     “Anyway, Jeanne became my legal guardian. She had had a child when she was seventeen. Her boyfriend at the time, while stupid for not using proper protection, was loyal. He stuck around; didn’t abandon Jeanne and their child. He told me that he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he’d just left them. Soon after Father died, he proposed to Jeanne, and they married a few weeks later. Just a little ceremony; barely anyone there.

     “We were poor. Very poor. The four of us – Jeanne and her new family, and me – all lived in the same house, and we struggled as it was. I’d dropped out of school almost immediately after my parents died to get a job. I just worked at McDonald’s. We weren’t overwhelmed with happiness, but it was okay. We lived like that for eight years. Then the accident happened.”

     Jean looked down at his hands. He hadn’t ever told anyone this story – the only person he could have told was his sister, and, of course, she had been there for the whole thing.

     “A car accident,” Jean continued. “Not that exciting. But that left Jeanne without a husband, her child without a father, and all of us with one less person to help keep us on our feet. We grew desperate. Jeanne and I devised all kinds of scams to help us get money. We hadn’t been particularly close in childhood, and only circumstance held us together then. We fought constantly.” Jean laughed. It sounded hollow to his ears. “And it was fine for a few years. But there was a neighbourhood nearby with lots of rich houses. And one night, I tried to steal from one of the rich houses.”

     He shook his head. “I got cocky. I was too careless. It had all been going so well, and I began to think, ‘Well, if I can steal a loaf of bread from a supermarket, why can’t I steal bigger things? Better things?’ But anyway, that’s how I wound up in jail for ten years.

     “By the time I got out, Jeanne had married one of those people living in one of those rich houses. I spent a few years getting myself on my feet again, and, well, here I am.”

     He heaved a sigh. It felt strangely therapeutic, to let the story of his life fall from his lips. It no longer churned in his mind and in his stomach – now it was free. Well, not the whole story – but he didn’t think he was ready to speak of his time in jail just yet.

     Fantine reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. She ran her thumb along the back of his hand, and, not looking up at him, said, “I grew up poor, too. I moved out when I was twenty-five into apartment 601 on my own, thinking that if I broke out of that cycle, I could create a life for myself without wondering when I would get my next meal. Without looking at all the nice clothes and gadgets that everyone else had, and smiling to myself, because the thought of being able to buy them was a wild dream.” She smiled slightly, at it was a twisted smile. “Of course, that didn’t work. I tried convincing my boyfriend at the time, a man named Félix Tholomyès, to move in with me. He was a wealthy man. He was also five years older than me. Cosette was an accident. When Félix found out, he up and left. Just like that.”

     She took a steadying breath. “My job as a waitress wasn’t keeping me afloat, and now that I was pregnant… Well, I worked until two days before I gave birth, and went back when Cosette was only a few weeks old. I didn’t want to, but I just couldn’t afford not to. It wasn’t long after that I…”

     Fantine swallowed thickly and shook her head. “Well,” she said with a sharp outtake of breath, “then I found… other ways, to get money. The Thénardiers began taking care of Cosette when she was about three. At first it was manageable, but then they started asking for more money, and as Cosette grew up I had to buy her more clothes and her own bed because there wasn’t room for both of us in my single bed, and it all just piled up, so I worked harder and for longer, and…” She laughed. “Well, you were there for the rest.”

     Jean watched her face, Fantine’s eyes still on their hands. A minute or so of silence passed before Jean spoke. “God, we make a pair, don’t we?”

     A giggle bubbled from Fantine’s lips. “We sure do,” she said, and soon her full-bellied laugh bounced off the walls. Jean was laughing just as hard.

     The laughter dissolved into weeping, but the heavy sadness had passed. They held onto each other, tears mixing on shoulders and chests, and let go of the pasts that had been suffocating them for years.

     Although those pasts would never go away completely, Jean felt that now, with Fantine’s help, he could begin to truly leave them behind him.

~*~*~

     They threw Fantine’s old clothes into the dumpster in an alley. Jean had never seen her so relieved.


	18. The one where Cosette graduates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, another chapter a day late! I'm on the back end of my final exams (only two more to go!), so I've been a bit busy with study lately. We're so close to the end! A huge thanks to everyone who's gotten this far. Hope you enjoy the chapter! xx

     The day Cosette graduated from high school was one of celebration and joy. Fantine couldn't seem to get close enough to her daughter, weeping into her shoulder, mumbling about how she never thought she would see the day — and, truly, if Jean hadn't interceded, it would have been a great possibility that Fantine would have died, and Cosette lost in a system of foster care. But, thankfully, life steered them on a new path, and now Cosette was embracing her friends and promising to catch up before university started.

     She even went out of her way to find Éponine. Despite what had transpired all those years ago, Cosette felt that she couldn't leave such a thing hanging. It had to be resolved. She had felt a twinge in her heart whenever she laid eyes on Éponine at school, even twelve years later. In fact, the twinge had seemed to grow, bubbling in her stomach as well. She saw the dark circles under the girl's eyes and the way she held herself almost stiffly, daring anyone to oppose her, and Cosette thought it was sad. But even so, Cosette insisted to her parents that they stay until she had found that girl, who was now a young woman — a very gorgeous young woman, Cosette couldn't help but notice — and sure enough, Cosette found her making her way to the exit as quickly as she was able.

     Cosette ran over to intercept. "Éponine!" she called, and Éponine tensed in surprise, looking back. She looked guarded as Cosette approached, her thick, dark hair hanging limply around her, in stark contrast with Cosette's light blonde hair, which was tied in an intricate braid. "Cosette?"

     Cosette pulled up to a stop in front of her, beaming. If it was anyone else she go in for a hug right away, but she didn’t know if it was appropriate. It had been a while since she had been this close to Éponine, and noticed how nice she smelled, a mixture of her deodorant and, faintly, cigarettes. Her dark eyes were pretty but wary. "I just wanted to say congratulations."

     Éponine smiled tightly. "Thanks. You too."

     "Where're your family?"

     Éponine shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly, her hands shoved into her jeans pockets. "They're not here."

     Cosette's brow crumpled. "I'm sorry."

     Éponine shrugged again, shaking her head, and seemed to mumble something that Cosette missed entirely.

     "Are you heading out, or...?"

     "Probably just gonna go home."

     "What about later? You coming?"

     Éponine snorted, nodding towards the rest of the year group. "What, partying with them? No thanks."

     "Oh." A few people had arranged a huge party for all graduates — one last opportunity to meet up. Unsurprisingly, most people were going to ABCU — the whole reason their parents had moved to the town in the first place — but plenty were moving out of town, out of state, some even out of country.

     Cosette hovered awkwardly, and Éponine had her chin jutted out almost defiantly. "Um, where're you going to uni?"

     Éponine scoffed. "Where do you think? ABCU."

     Cosette pretended she wasn't a little hurt at Éponine's curt attitude. "Oh, that's great! Me too."

     Éponine raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, great," she muttered sarcastically. "Just like every other person here."

     Cosette frowned. "I didn't mean to offend you."

     Éponine hesitated, clenching her jaw. "Sorry," she said, but it came out as more of a grunt, as if it were a great effort to get the word out. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Thanks, Cosette. I'll see you in a few months."

     Before Cosette could reply, Éponine had disappeared out the door. Feeling confused and a little wounded, Cosette made her way back to her parents.

     "Did you find her?" Fantine asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

     Cosette pursed her lips. "Yeah..." she said unsurely.

     "What's the matter?"

     Cosette shook her head to clear it. "Nothing." She smiled up at her mother. "C'mon, let's go get something to eat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ABCU stands for Abaissés University. Just, if you forgot, or were confused. I don't think I've mentioned it since the beginning of the first chapter.) (Also yes, I'm well aware that Abaissés University is actually a terrible name for a university because abaissés means 'lowly' or 'debased' in French but please overlook that because it fits in with the story and also ABCU is a snazzy acronym.)


	19. The one where Jean is sappy (or: The one where Cosette graduates, part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, we're up to chapter nineteen! We're almost there! As much as I'd like to do all my thank-yous and such right now, I'll wait until the final chapter. Now, without further ado - I hope you like the penultimate chapter of Walls for the Winds! xx

     "Do you remember meeting me?" Jean asked as they tucked into dinner. Cosette was enjoying chicken sausages with barbecue and tomato sauce mixed together: her second favourite meal, after her father's Mean Scrambled Eggs. The only somewhat fancy restaurant in town was packed with people from Cosette's small year at school and their families.

     Cosette cocked her head, frowning. "Mmm..." She thought his question over. "Vaguely. I remember that night when Mama collapsed."

     "You came into the butcher," Jean explained. "You were shopping for your babysitters."

     "The Thénardiers," Cosette said with a nod. "I remember them." Of course she did — she had been reminded of them whenever she had seen Éponine at school.

     "That was _twelve_ _years_ ago," Fantine said incredulously. "Where did all that time go?"

     Jean took her and Cosette's hands. "I'm so proud of you two," he said. "Truly. So, so proud. Especially of you, Cosette."

     Cosette blushed, smiling. "Stop, Papa."

     "I mean it," Jean said. "I can't imagine where I would be without you two in my life. And I want to thank you, Cosette. If you hadn't come into the shop that one day, I never would have met you."

     "It was you who offered to help," Fantine said. "You're a good man, Jean."

     "A better one, since having been with you."

     Cosette took her hand back with a good-natured scoff and roll of her eyes. "You've always been so sappy."

     Jean chuckled. "I can't help it. You make me happy." His eyebrows knitted together in sadness. "Are you sure you want to live in one of the dorms? ABCU is only half an hour away."

     Fantine tutted, backhanding Jean in the arm. "Leave those puppy-dog eyes where they belong, Jean. We've been over this countless times."

     "You know I'll always love you and Mama, Papa," Cosette said. "But I'm eighteen. I have to at least _start_ becoming an adult."

     Jean sighed. "I know. But you can't hate me for wanting you to stay home."

     "Like you said," Cosette said with a shrug, "ABCU is only half an hour away. I'm not moving to Antarctica."

     Jean humphed, and stole one of Cosette's chips.


	20. The one where Cosette moves out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, pulling to a graceful stop at Final Chapter station. Thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who's read this far, and who has left kudos and enjoyed this work and all of that. An extra thank you (times ten) goes out to Denz-El, of course. You're just brilliant.  
> This chapter is basically where the next instalment in the series picks up. There may be a little delay with me getting started with that one - I haven't really read through what I've written yet, but I'll do that over the next few days (as well as continuing writing it... and getting started on NaNoWrimo, which I haven't participated in for, like, five years, which should be interesting). Check it out, see if you're interested - I'd appreciate it!  
> Lots of love,  
> sunken_ships

     Finally, the time that Jean had been dreading arrived: Cosette was officially moving into a dorm at Abaissés University. Her bags were packed, and she was ready in every sense of the word.

     Fantine and Jean both took the day off work to help her unpack. The university was certainly very nice, with lots of grassy areas and big trees and park benches, and modern-looking buildings that had floor-to-ceiling windows to let in natural light. Cosette had instantly fallen in love with the library — two stories high, with countless nooks and crannies for people to curl up and read, as well as plenty of seminar rooms and study areas. Working on a double degree of Bachelor of Media and Communications and Fine Arts wouldn't allow for a lot of free reading time, but since her Fine Arts degree was specialised in Visual Arts, she would have some excuses to sit outside and enjoy the sun; while painting or sketching, of course.

     Jean had every faith that she would excel. He knew that she would. And even if she didn't, he would love her all the same.

     They helped her set up her dorm room. She was sharing with another girl, whose side of the room appeared to be complete, if somewhat bare, and they were yet to meet her. Cosette's roommate had been a girl called Musichetta, who she had met a few times and had gotten along with swimmingly, but last-minute changes meant that Cosette was currently in the dark about with whom she would be sharing a room. Jean had a feeling that, no matter who it was, Cosette would get along with her. Cosette was just that kind of person.

     Cosette had just stuck up her final photo on the wall — the photo was of her and her family from her graduation — when they heard the announcement for all new students to meet in the Great Hall. Jean's heart tightened, and he told himself that she would only be half an hour away. But still, it hurt.

     Cosette turned to him and Fantine. "Well," she said, taking a breath in and letting it go. "This is it."

     Jean's throat felt thick and his eyes stung. "Good luck," he choked out.

     Cosette's face fell and crumpled. "Oh, no, Papa, don't cry," she pleaded, her own eyes welling up with tears. She rushed towards him, hugging him close, and Jean felt tears rolling down his cheeks. He pressed his lips to her hair. "I'm so proud of you," he murmured over and over again. "I'm so proud of you."

     Cosette pulled back, looking up at him, and Jean took her face in his hands, kissing her forehead. "I love you so much," he said, his voice catching.

     "I love you too, Papa," Cosette said. She sniffed and turned to Fantine, who was just as tearful. "And I love you, Mama." She hugged her mother close, and Fantine squeezed her tightly, before peppering her face with kisses. "Be safe," she said seriously, "be smart, be resourceful, be diligent, be kind, be considerate, be thoughtful."

     Cosette smiled. "I will."

     "I know," Fantine said. She gestured for Jean to join them, and they shared one final group hug.

     "Okay, now, off you go," Fantine said. "Don't be late before you've even started."

     "Call us if you need anything," Jean added.

     "I will," Cosette said as she hurried out the door. She waved as she went. "I love you!"

     "Love you too!" her parents chorused. And then Cosette was gone.

     Jean and Fantine turned to each other, tears still flowing down both of their faces. "Our little girl," Jean said.

     "Not so little anymore," Fantine said with a laugh. They hugged each other close.

     Jean pulled back. "Now," he said with a sigh, wiping his face with his hand. "How about we head home and I whip us up some Mean Scrambled Eggs?"

**Author's Note:**

> May you always have walls for the winds,  
> And a roof for the rain,  
> Laughter to cheer you,  
> And those you love near you.  
> -Irish blessing


End file.
